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to find my mate.”
    Ara stilled. “Wait, what did you say?” She
couldn’t have heard that right. The infamously single Zeke had a mate and he
wanted her to help find this person? How was she supposed to do that? If anyone
had the power to find her it was him. He was the president after all!
    The alpha jumped to a stand. He began
stretching his arms, swinging them about to loosen them up. His hair had fallen
in his face but he didn’t bother to fix it. “I’ve heard about you, Oprah. You
might not be able to shift, but you have something else unique to you. And as
far as I know it’s unique to you alone.”
    Nothing could send a chill faster through Ara’s
stomach then the harsh reminder of her deficiency as a Were. Her earlier
excitement deflated like a popped balloon. She cleared her throat. “I don’t
know if others have my…problem.”
    “I assure you they do not or they would be here
and not you, Oprah.”
    Even her glare did nothing to affect the alpha.
“My name isn’t Oprah.”
    A guard came into the room. He carried a rolled
up document and a black velvet box. Zeke gave the man an approving nod and the
guard spread the document open on a table covered in papers, pens, and rolled
up fast food wrappers. It was a map of the United States. Using color-coded
sections the map depicted all the Were territories which all the alphas ran. It
labeled the vampire strongholds throughout the country. The box he set to the
side.
    Zeke ran his hands across the map, almost
lovingly. “Leave, Freddy.” The guard removed himself without a word. He started
to hum a song. He still had yet to explain anything to her and now he was
humming a tune. It took a few seconds for her to place the familiar tune.
    There once was a man named Michael Finnegan. He
had whiskers on his chin again. They fell out then grew back in again. Poor old
Michael Finnegan. Begin again.
    And the alpha did repeat the song, over and
again, as he stared at that map as if it held all the answers and none of them.
    “I have a task for you,” he said with sudden
energy.
    “I’d like to know what that task is if it isn’t
too much trouble.”
    “I need you to find someone for me using your…unique
ability. And you’re going to do it with this.” He opened the black velvet box.
She didn’t know what to expect inside—a severed head, a gun, a bottle of wine—with
Zeke’s mental stability, she wouldn’t have been surprised at any of those
things. But it was none of those things.
    A hairbrush.
    Tucked into soft black velvet cushioning was a
classic-style woman’s hairbrush. It had soft bristles that had begun to yellow
with age. The brush looked like it was made from silver. An engraved floral
pattern covered the head of the brush. It looked a hundred years old, perhaps
more. They simply didn’t make hairbrushes like this anymore, or at least not
that Ara had seen. This was made from real bore hair, not synthetic fibers. It
looked like it might even be heavy if she could pick it up.
    “What’s the significance of the hairbrush?” Ara
asked. She wanted to touch it. She had to curl her hands into fists to keep
from reaching out to stroke the brush. Its memories called to her like whispers
in the back of her mind.
    Touch me and know my story, the whispers said.
    “There is none,” he answered, voice removed of
any inflection.
    “Is this hers?” she asked.
    “Yes.” It was almost a hiss of sound. Zeke
stared at the brush as if it were both the bane of his existence and his
lifeline. His eyes glowed with an eerie light as the animal inside him
struggled to surface. He fought the need to change and was making it look
simple. Most weres, once the urge to shift came over then, could not refuse the
temptation. Zeke did and he looked so scary doing it, Ara backed away a step
out of fear.
    “What exactly do you need me to do?”
    He took his time to answer her. “My mate has
blue eyes hair like spun gold. Her beauty makes women weep. Others